


Drunk

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel in the Bunker, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Memory Related, Upset Castiel, Worried Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 09:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5962501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean begins to notice Cas is drinking heavily and tries to find ways to help him cut back. Only, Cas won't stay alone with him long enough to even broach the subject; what happened to Cas to make him want to drink himself into numbness?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I'm worried about Cas.”

 

Sam paused his hands over the laptop keyboard and glanced up at Dean, raising an eyebrow.

 

“So what's new?” he asked. Dean fussed over them both like a mother hen, and Cas especially. It was one of the things Sam teased him about most, that and his constant need to be near Cas, or stare at Cas, or make sure that whatever Cas was doing, it was because he wanted to be doing it.

 

Dean didn't approve of Sam's quick dismissal, or the tone of his voice.

 

“I'm serious,” he came back with, straining his voice enough to make Sam actually pull back from the computer and look at him properly.

 

“Okay. So you're serious. What's up?”

 

Dean opened his mouth as if to start talking then thought better of it. Instead, he waved a hand, gesturing for Sam to stand up. Sam did, and followed Dean over to the trash, wrinkling his nose up as Dean yanked open the bag they usually filled for recycling.

 

“What?” Sam repeated, and Dean rustled the bag a little. Sam heard a lot of glass on glass, and peered in, frowning. There were several larger clear bottles, along with what had to be at least a dozen or more brown ones that were probably from beer.

 

But Sam saw nothing out of the ordinary and just shrugged, looking to Dean for an explanation. “So? We drink. We always have beer in. We've always had a high tolerance for alcohol. Seems Cas does too,” he added, turning away.

 

Dean put a hand out to stop him. “No, Sam. What if it's more than a 'high tolerance'? You and me, sure,” and he fidgeted uncomfortably with the admission, “we've always drunk too much. But I like to think we could cut that down if we wanted to.”

 

Sam nodded slowly. Their father had, if not openly couraged, then never hid from them the comfort to be found in the bottom of a bottle. But it didn't need to be a big deal. If he could get over his need for demon blood, Sam thought, well. Alcohol wasn't going to anything like a problem for either of them.

 

“So we cut down,” he answered. Sam didn't need to be told that cutting down on their drinking would be doing them nothing but good. He'd been on at Dean for as long as he could remember about eating more healthily, but if they had to start with drink, well, he could get on board with that.

 

Dean swallowed a little awkwardly but also nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Yeah... if we don't buy it, he can't drink it, right?”

 

And Sam began to understand. “You think Cas is drinking too much?”

 

Dean tilted his head towards the bag in his hand. “How many of these whiskey bottles are yours?”

 

Sam thought for a second as he looked back down, and he found he couldn't actually remember the last time he'd finished a bottle himself.

 

“'cos I can tell you. I put in one. One, Sam. And I only took the recycling out on Sunday.”

 

Sam wanted to laugh at Dean for monitoring the trash; since they'd moved into the bunker Sam had seen a domestic side to Dean that he never failed to wind him up about. But the look on his face was nothing but solemn, and Sam knew now was not the time.

 

Sam looked back in the bag still in Dean's hand, and counted. There were five empty whiskey bottles, and today was Thursday. Sam raised his eyebrows in question. “So he's been drinking one a day? On his own?”

 

“Yeah. As well as the beer. And I'm pretty sure there were just as many this time last week as well.”

 

“And you're worried he's getting, what? Dependent? Come on Dean,” Sam smiled, “It's Cas. He's fine.”

 

Dean sighed, then moved and leaned back against the counter, folding his arms tight across his chest. “I'm just saying. He's got a tendency for this stuff. I don't want it getting out of hand.”

 

Sam leaned next to him, also folding his arms. “You gonna talk to him about it?”

 

Dean shot him a look that left Sam in no doubt; of course he wasn't going to.

 

“I was thinking. Maybe we cut back a bit ourselves, he'll do the same.” Dean looked at Sam expectantly.

 

“Fine with me.” Sam told himself it would be easy, and hoped he was telling himself the truth. “He'll be okay,” he added, bumping his elbow against Dean's in reassurance.

 

Dean nodded to himself, staring at the floor. “I hope so. You didn't see him, Sam.” Dean's voice grew quiet. “Before. Or... after... or... whatever that alternate reality was.”

 

He'd tried to explain to Sam. Besides the awfulness of Lucifer in that future he'd seen of theirs, watching future Cas drinking and drugging himself into oblivion was almost the unravelling of Dean. Cas had given up on everything else besides numbing the pain of his existence, yet still blindly followed Dean's lead, to whatever end. Seeing that utter trust there after all that time gave Dean a hope he didn't know he needed, but also kept him awake at night wondering just what it might mean.

 

Dean had wanted, countless times, to talk to Cas about it, to see if there really would be a possibility of him becoming that version of himself. But how could he find the words to do that? When there were so many other things that he should prioritise talking to Cas about first?

 

Instead, he'd let the thought fester, and worried about it on his own, along with all his other Cas-related concerns that seemed to grow by the day. Until suddenly, what felt like almost overnight, alcohol began disappearing at an alarming rate. And he couldn't ignore his fears anymore.

 

“It doesn't mean he's gonna turn out the same, you know,” Sam tried to reassure him. “And if it looks that way, well. He's got us. We'll help,” Sam was so confident about that, that Dean tried not to take it for disinterest. He had a retort built up anyway though, but no sooner had he begun forming the words, they were stopped by Cas staggering through with a groan.

 

Cas looked all shades of terrible. Bleary, bloodshot eyes glanced over at them briefly, a tired hand running across a very stubbled jaw. His whole body curled forward, sagging, and his hair did its usual gravity defying thing that had Dean itching to get his fingers through it. But of course, he never did. No matter how many times it played on his mind.

 

“Morning, Cas,” he offered, bright enough for Cas to scowl at him.

 

Cas grunted out a response then began searching through the cupboards, wincing at the slightest noise he made. Dean turned to Sam with a look that spoke of nothing but alarm, and when Cas stumbled, Dean reached out a hand to steady him, leaning Cas back against the counter in his place.

 

Before Cas could protest, Dean was moving around him, pressing a couple of painkillers into Cas' palm and filling and passing him a glass of water. Dean waited in front of him whilst Cas downed the water and pills with a grimace of distaste, pushing the now empty glass back into Dean's hand.

 

“I need coffee,” Cas growled out, and Dean was off again, already pouring him a mug before Cas could even move. Dean watched as Cas curled his fingers around the mug before taking a grateful sip, closing his eyes with a soft sigh.

 

“Hangovers suck, man. Might wanna try and avoid another, huh?” Dean tried to keep his voice level, but there was no mistaking, at least to Sam, the level of concern there.

 

Cas merely rolled his eyes. “I'll be fine in a couple of hours.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed with a snort, “And you'd be even better if you weren't hungover in the first place?”

 

Cas took another sip of his coffee and stared over the rim of his mug at Dean with a condescending glare.

 

Dean backed off, knowing he had no room to talk, even if his own tolerance was so high that hangovers barely registered any more. Which was probably a terrible thing, he admitted to himself.

 

Instead of risking any form of confrontation, Dean went into full care mode, doing what he did best.

 

“How 'bout I cook us up some breakfast, line your stomach a bit?”

 

Dean watched as Cas' face took on a vaguely green hue, and a sheen of sweat covered him all the way down to his neck. Cas rocked forward a little on his feet, and for a second Dean thought Cas was about to throw up on him right there. But after a beat, he righted himself, and Dean let out a breath in relief.

 

Turning away, he roughly pulled out a chair from the table and nodded for Cas to sit. He waited until Cas lowered himself delicately into his seat and turned back, clapping his hands and starting to put together something for them to eat.

 

Sam watched in silence. How much of Dean's concern for Cas was based on actual fear of what he'd seen? And how much of it was Dean overcompensating in his role as caregiver, because he wouldn't allow himself to express any of the other kind of affection he felt for Cas?

 

But of course, Sam wouldn't ask Dean that outright. He might as well let off a bunch of firecrackers right there in the bunker for all the good that would do, and the mess it would cause.

 

A mound of eggs and bacon later, Cas looked alert enough to resemble a human again, and when he returned even later following a shower, he looked completely back to normal.

 

Dean's smile was twisted; in relief, in fear, in many other ways that Sam knew he was fighting not to acknowledge to himself.

 

But Sam found he could say nothing, and instead, just carried on watching them both.

 

***

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam agreed to keep Cas busy whilst Dean went grocery shopping, in the hope of avoiding the need to talk about the lack of alcohol he didn't plan on buying.
> 
> They spent most of the day working through the never-ending stacks of books and paperwork that cluttered up many yet-unexplored rooms and surfaces of the bunker. It was easy work, with light conversation between them both that spoke of no problems or difficulties other than the task at hand.
> 
> But later that afternoon, Cas started rummaging through the cupboards and turned to them both with a frown.
> 
> “You appear to have forgotten to buy anything to drink, Dean,” he said, and Dean didn't want to hear the accusing tone there in his voice.

Sam agreed to keep Cas busy whilst Dean went grocery shopping, in the hope of avoiding the need to talk about the lack of alcohol he didn't plan on buying.

  


They spent most of the day working through the never-ending stacks of books and paperwork that cluttered up many yet-unexplored rooms and surfaces of the bunker. It was easy work, with light conversation between them both that spoke of no problems or difficulties other than the task at hand.

  


But later that afternoon, Cas started rummaging through the cupboards and turned to them both with a frown.

  


“You appear to have forgotten to buy anything to drink, Dean,” he said, and Dean didn't want to hear the accusing tone there in his voice.

  


Dean shook his head, and walked over to the fridge. “What? There's juice, soda, milk.” And he straightened up, tilting his head over to where the coffee machine sat on the side. “Coffee.”

  


Cas snorted, and rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dean. I can see that. But you have never returned from buying food without alcohol. Not once.”

  


Dean felt very much caught in headlights, and cuffed the back of his head as he tried to find an explanation. “I... uh... forgot?” he managed, feebly.

  


Cas' expression softened in forgiveness. “Then I will go,” and before Dean could say a word Cas was turning on his heel.

  


Dean sighed heavily; what was he supposed to do? Cas had his own car, his own, very-fraudulent credit card, and he was his own person. What was he going to do, tell him he couldn't go?

  


Sam could only spread his hands and shrug.

  


Cas returned an hour later with a very accomplished look on his face and several laden bags. Dean just stared, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he chewed down on his lip, watching Cas load a couple of cases of beer into the fridge, and triumphantly cluttering several bottles of whiskey on to the side. He tossed a bag of chips in Dean's direction which he caught without any effort, and turned to pull two glasses down from the cupboard. Before Dean could form even a small objection, Cas had pressed one into his free hand and was pouring him a very generous measure, before doing the same for himself.

  


Dean watched again as Cas' face went slack in relief, and something cold clutched around Dean's heart.

  


***

  


Perhaps, Dean reasoned with himself days later as he emptied a still worryingly-full bag of bottles, the answer was really as he'd first suggested to Sam; to cut down, not cut out entirely. Perhaps if the only alcohol he bought was beer, and that was all he and Sam drank, Cas might follow suit.

  


He'd kept that in mind on a shopping run, spending far longer than he normally would checking the ABV rating of each brand along the shelves until he found the lowest he could that he knew were decent enough to drink. They were cutting back, he told himself, not punishing themselves.

  


And at first, he thought it might just work. The three of them sat down to a very pleasant meal, courtesy of his own fair hands even if he did say so himself, each slowly sipping at their beers in comfort. But after they'd finished eating, and everything was cleared away, and Sam had drifted off to his room leaving Cas and Dean alone, Cas looked Dean up and down with a look of something like panic and began searching through the cupboards in earnest.

  


Cas stuck his head in the fridge, still looking, and when he turned to look up at Dean curiously, Dean felt his heart skip a little. For all number of reasons, yes, but the main one in that moment was that he knew that Cas was searching for something stronger to drink. It was what he’d be doing if he had the urge to drink, so he knew the expression far too well.

  


When he realised there wasn't anything else, Cas was bordering on despair, which did nothing to ease the worry growing in Dean. Dean had to convince him that he was already too far over the limit to drive, so he couldn't actually go out and get anything else. And with that information, Cas had slumped down heavily on the couch as far away from Dean as he could, steadily working his way through all of the beer Dean had bought that day.

  


When it was gone, which to Dean's mind was far too quickly, he got up without so much as a word, and disappeared into his room, leaving Dean alone to his fretting.

  


***

  


The hangover breakfast started to become a routine.

  


Every time Dean went shopping, he avoided the alcohol aisle altogether. The thought of Cas getting drunk each night made him feel more than a little sick, and that alone was enough to put drinking far to the back of his mind.

  


But it was testament to how bad things had gotten when Dean's first port of call in the supermarket was for painkillers and energy drinks; Cas seemed to perk up much quicker once he'd had a cocktail of the two before eating anything, and Dean had taken to keeping in a steady supply of both.

  


The amount of breakfast food also increased in the bottom of his cart.

  


Cas wasn't even an obvious drunk, with the only change in Cas' behaviour being that he became more relaxed and didn't pull away from Dean when they drifted towards each other on the couch, or wherever else they happened to be. He was even a little more affectionate, smiling at Dean in a way that made Dean's heart race, or lightly resting a hand on his arm, making Dean crave for more touch than he was brave enough to ask for.

  


But clearly Cas _was_ drinking, and far too much.

  


Hearing Cas retching and groaning into the toilet bowl one morning was the thing that made Dean snap.

  


He peered his head around the bathroom door, breathing shallowly through his mouth so he could attempt to avoid the smell of vomit, and waited. Cas was clutching the toilet bowl and grumbling into it, repeatedly spitting, then retching, then spitting again.

  


Without waiting to be asked, Dean filled a glass with water, setting it down beside the sink. He dampened a washcloth, pressing it gently onto Cas' neck whilst running soothing fingers against the back of his head. He tried to pretend he didn't get a kick out of finally having an excuse to feel the hair that he'd ached to run his fingers through for so long; though he did manage to acknowledge that he'd always thought about it being in quite different circumstances.

  


When it seemed like Cas had finally finished, Dean wrapped his fingers around Cas' elbow and slowly hoisted him up, dragging him over to the sink. He wrung out the cloth again, pressed the tumbler into Cas' hand and waited until he'd rinsed his mouth out before gently wiping Cas' face. It spoke volumes over how sick Cas was this morning, because there wasn't a single objection to Dean's 'fussing'; Cas, if anything, leaned into Dean's touch, sighing a little in relief.

  


Dean looked down at Cas' fingers clasped round the edge of the sink, and tried to bite back the comments that were clamoring for freedom. He reached over to Cas' toothbrush, rinsed it off, squeezed out some toothpaste on to it and handed it over.

  


Dean watched Cas in the mirror; eyes closed, still leaning heavily against the sink for support, sleepily brushing his teeth.

  


“You've gotta stop this, Cas.”

  


Cas cracked an eye open and looked questioningly at Dean in the mirror.

  


“This,” Dean said, waving a hand in his direction. “Drinking so much that you're sick every day.”

  


Cas bent down to spit out the toothpaste, rinsing his mouth out with water before standing back up a little unsteadily. A spot of toothpaste remained at the corner of his mouth; Dean's fingers twitched to wipe it away.

  


“Are _you_ about to lecture _me_ on drinking, Dean?” Cas' tone said all it needed to about the hypocrisy he found at the situation. Dean just narrowed his eyes back at him, ignoring it as best as he could.

  


“You see me throwing up every morning, Cas? I can't remember the last time I was hungover.”

  


Cas winced at that, which stirred up the beginnings of words that Dean couldn't quite form into questions.

  


“What, I can't worry about you?” is all Dean could manage in response. He watched as a range of emotions flickered across Cas' face at once, before he took a deep breath and shrugged.

  


“I'm fine, Dean. There is nothing for you to be concerned about.”

  


“Yeah, right. That's why you're retching your guts up, huh? Again?”

  


“I am not often sick, Dean.” Cas sounded nothing but annoyed, and started to turn away from him.

  


“Hey,” Dean reached out to grab on to Cas' arm. “You're sick often enough for me to be concerned, alright? And while you live here-”

  


“You want me to _leave_ , Dean?”

  


Which pulled Dean up short. The fact that Dean had made Cas leave the bunker once before had never been a card Cas had needed to play up until now, because Dean had no intention of ever being so stupid again. But it still hung over him like a guillotine, and Dean always braced for a reminder of one of the most ridiculous decisions of his life. So if there was malice in Cas' voice now, mixed in with what he thought was also a little fear, Dean knew he had no one to blame but himself.

  


“Hey. No one's talking about leaving, Cas. I don't want you to go anywhere.” And Dean gripped a little harder to make sure Cas understood. He waited for him to nod before continuing. “All I'm saying is... is I care, okay? And seeing you like this every day is hard, man. I don't want you hurt, ever. Least of all when it's at your own hands.”

  


At his own words, which felt half way to a confession, Dean's heart felt as though it beat loud enough for Cas to be able to hear it. Cas did stare at him a little harder than normal as though he was trying to read him from the inside out, but other than that, Cas showed no real reaction at all.

  


“Okay. That's it,” Dean said decidedly, and for a second he wanted to take back his words when he took in the look of panic on Cas' face. “Family meeting,” Dean added, as though that was the kind of phrase he regularly went around saying. To avoid Cas' gaze, Dean paced away from him and turned back briefly only once he reached the doorway.

  


“Now, Cas,” and with that Dean headed out the door.

  


Cas stood for a few moments deliberating, wincing with pain when he heard Dean loudly calling for Sam. With a sigh of resignation, Cas looked at himself in the mirror, unable to avoid his own eyes despite trying very hard to do just that.

  


Dean didn't understand. He had to do this. And he had to do this, _because_ of him.

  


Running a tired hand lazily across his face, Cas took a couple of breaths to force down the feeling of nausea that seemed to sit permanently in his chest. And reluctantly turned, following Dean out of the bathroom.

  


***

  


When he turned the corner of the hallway to find Dean and Sam looking up at him expectantly from where they sat around the table, it took everything in him for Cas not to walk straight on past and go and hide in his room. But the glint in Dean's eye warned him against doing just that, and the open, pleading look Sam gave him was enough to make him feel all kinds of ashamed of himself.

  


Dean waited for Cas to slide into his seat and then cleared his throat before beginning. “So. Cas. The thing is... Sam and me...” and Dean glanced quickly over at Sam for back up which he received with a slight nod, “We've... we've noticed that. You drink. A fair amount.”

  


“As do you,” Cas retorted in defence, folding his arms on the table and avoiding eye contact with them both.

  


“Yeah, we do, Cas. Or we did. But we're no role models here, Cas. It's a shitty way to live. And it's no good for you, you know? Waking up like this,” Dean waved a vague hand in Cas' direction to illustrate his point, “once in a while, sure. It's not good, but it's fine. But almost every day? You're gonna get sick, Cas.”

  


“I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, Dean. I know my limits,” Cas' voice was defiant.

  


“The thing is, Cas,” Sam began, stepping to help, “Maybe we could all do with cutting back a little, yeah? We're all guilty of drinking a bit too much.”

  


“Sam's right,” Dean said, gratefully, “Won't do us any harm stopping drinking so much. No big deal, right?” And Dean desperately wanted to keep the challenge from his voice; he didn't want to be insinuating, out loud at least, that he was worried how hard it'd be for Cas to not drink.

  


Cas narrowed his eyes at him though, completely aware of the implication of his words.

  


“You think I cannot stop?”

  


“I didn't say that,” Dean said frantically, holding his hands up in request for understanding. “I'm just saying. It'd be good for us all, right?”

  


Not for the first time, Dean wished that he could read Cas' mind. Because the way his face stayed blank, Dean knew without a doubt there was a world of emotions whirling away beneath the surface. And all he knew for certain was that Cas was thinking something that couldn't in any way be good.

  


“Fine,” Cas sighed out eventually, as though this conversation had been completely unnecessary and a waste of everyone's time. “No more alcohol for a while. I need coffee,” he added, loudly scraping his chair against the floor as he pushed away from the table.

  


Dean and Sam stared after him for a moment then looked at each other with a grimace.

  


***

  


The mood between the three of them did not improve as the day went on. Each of them was tense, and the air was static-charged with jagged nerves and clenched teeth. Conversations felt forced, and despite all attempts at keeping things easy between them, every effort Dean made fell flat.

  


Dinner was eaten in silence, and Sam and Cas washed and dried the dishes in perfect synchronicity without uttering a single word. The three of them crowded awkwardly around the table to play an incredibly fraught game of cards, with Cas shuffling the deck hard enough to spray the cards everywhere. Finally, after they all gave up the pretence of even wanting to be there, each disappeared into their perspective rooms.

  


Dean paced his room. Up one side of the bed and back down to the door, on repeat, with no sign of slowing down. He felt exactly like the caged animal he was, and hadn't a clue how to do anything about this situation they'd found themselves in.

  


Maybe Cas was right, and this was all very easy and nothing to worry about at all. But if that were true, why had Cas looked so much like a coiled spring all night long, bolting from them into the safety of his own room the second it became generally acceptable to do so?

  


No, Dean told himself, this wasn't okay, in any way, shape or form. Whatever reasons Cas had for drinking himself into oblivion, they couldn't be good ones, and he had to do something, anything, to help him if he could.

  


He just had to figure out how.

  


Perhaps, Dean then acknowledged, he was part of the problem here. Because not only had he been the one to _show_ Cas how 'normal' it was to seek comfort in alcohol, but perhaps if he were to be open and honest with him a little more, then Cas wouldn't feel the need to completely shut himself away all of the time, instead of talking about whatever was wrong.

 

Dean knew how to drink his problems away. He knew the comfort in forgetting it all for a while. So he knew it when he saw it happening to someone else, especially when it was someone who he spent so much of his time watching.

  


It took Dean another hour or two of alternately pacing and staring up at the ceiling before coming to the conclusion that he really had to talk to Cas. He had to; it was the only way, however painful this was going to be, that he was going to get to the bottom of things with him.

  


Steeling himself, he stood outside Cas' door for a good five minutes or more, fighting with himself before raising his hand to knock. Finally he did, and his knuckles sent out an echo along the hallway that seemed loud enough, at least to his ear, to wake the dead.

  


There was no response from Cas.

  


Dean knocked again; he couldn't be sleeping already, could he? Should he leave him to it if he was?

  


Dean was about to take a step back and turn round, but his gut told him not to move a muscle. He straightened himself up again and knocked once more, louder this time, calling out Cas' name through the closed door.

  


With his heart beginning to pound and blood rushing to his ears fast enough to deafen him, Dean turned the handle and found it to be unlocked. He held his breath as he swung it open, fumbling for the light switch.

  


The light flickered briefly and then bathed an empty room.

  
  


 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shit,” was all Dean could manage to say, before frantically turning on his heel and running.
> 
> Dean searched everywhere; every room they used and didn't use. Every car in the garage. Outside, which is where he realised that Cas' car was gone.
> 
> Unable to think with anything resembling clarity, he sprinted back inside, barging through Sam's door without knocking and startling him enough to make Sam almost knock his laptop flying.
> 
> “Cas. He's gone,” Dean choked out, eyes wide with despair.

“Shit,” was all Dean could manage to say, before frantically turning on his heel and running.

  


Dean searched everywhere; every room they used and didn't use. Every car in the garage. Outside, which is where he realised that Cas' car was gone.

  


Unable to think with anything resembling clarity, he sprinted back inside, barging through Sam's door without knocking and startling him enough to make Sam almost knock his laptop flying.

  


“Cas. He's gone,” Dean choked out, eyes wide with despair.

  


“Dude. Calm down. Maybe he just felt like a drive,” Sam tried to reason, but was already standing and poised as though he needed to take some kind of action himself. Dean always had that effect on him.

  


“When's he ever go anywhere without telling one of us, huh?” Dean demanded.

  


Sam shrugged a little helplessly in the face of Dean's panic. “First time for everything, right?”

  


“Yeah. You saw him tonight, Sam. He was on edge,” and Dean frantically ran his hand through his hair, taking up his pacing route in Sam's room.

  


“Maybe...maybe he's just… gone to buy something to drink,” Sam tried quietly, watching as Dean's shoulders dropped.

  


Dean thought about that. That could be one option; not a great one, no, but at least it would mean he'd be back soon. And Dean would know he was okay. He didn't think Cas would be reckless enough to drink and drive, at least, he hadn't been up until now. But like Sam said, there was always a first time, a thought which offered Dean no comfort at all.

  


“What if he's just taken off?” Dean's voice dropped to a whisper, and he looked to Sam with urgency, seeking reassurance.

  


“Anything missing from his room?”

  


“Just his jacket and wallet. And his phone,” Dean looked up at Sam then in relief, cursing himself for not thinking to do the obvious, and quickly pulled out his phone and started dialling.

  


The phone went straight to voicemail, and Dean cursed again, out loud.

  


“Okay. So he's gone,” Sam tried to reason. “But he's not gone far, probably. Or at least, he doesn't intend to go far, right? Otherwise he'd at least take a change of clothes or something, yeah?”

  


“He could buy new stuff,” Dean said, pleading in his voice for his own fears not to be true. “He could do anything,”

  


“Dean,” Sam stepped directly in front of Dean's pacing path and stopped him with a look. “Calm down. He's probably just... he's probably... he'll be fine, Dean. Worst case scenario, we'll find him in a bar somewhere. We can go look if you want but...”

  


“But what?” Dean demanded, already making a mental map of the most local bars to them.

  


“Maybe if you – maybe if we, show him a little trust. And if he has gone to a bar or a...whatever... and we're here waiting for him instead of out there searching for him like he's a kid with a curfew. Maybe he'll realise we're just concerned about him is all. Maybe that's enough to make him think about this for himself.”

  


Dean did not like Sam's logic. “Oh yeah? And what if that's not what's happening here? What if he's out there getting himself into trouble? You know what he's like with people, Sam.”

  


“Yeah, Dean. I do,” Sam laughed a little. “He's got better.”

  


Dean scowled, but knew it was true.

  


“Maybe,” and Sam debated with himself over his next words, “you know. Maybe he'll meet someone. Spend the night somewhere, then come back in the morning with his tail between his legs and a smile on his face,” he suggested. It wasn't meant to be cruel; he'd have to be blind to not know exactly how Dean felt about Cas, but it was almost worth it to see the way Dean's face contorted in fear at his words. And if Dean was too chicken to do anything about it, well. Sam would use whatever he could to snap a little sense into him.

  


Dean couldn't even bring himself to respond. What if Sam was right? The thought of Cas with someone else was a broadsword through his chest; even if he'd never be able to admit that he wanted Cas for himself, that didn't mean he could stomach the thought of-

  


“Okay,” Sam said quickly, stopping Dean's train of thought, clearly at the look of utter horror on his face. “Maybe not. But Dean. It's not like we can file a missing persons or anything. He's been gone, what. A couple hours, tops? Let's... sit tight. Give it at least another hour or so. Then we'll decide what to do, okay?”

  


A couple of hours would do nothing for Dean's nerves.

  


“I'm going looking, Sam.”

  


Before Sam had chance to reply Dean was already heading for the car, but Sam caught up with him seconds later, shrugging into his jacket and climbing in beside him in silence.

  


***

  


Cas was in the third bar they tried.

  


Slumped heavily over the bar itself, steadily working his way through every drink he could see, and some that he couldn't.

 

The barman had thought it was a joke at first, Cas' request to try one of everything. But the look of determination on Cas' face soon had him thinking otherwise. He'd tried to get him to slow down, and at one point tried to cut him off, but the steely look Cas gave him, on top of the fact that he was working alone that night and had no time to deal with an irate, demanding customer, just made him keep returning and upending bottles into Cas' glass without too much thinking about it at all.

  


It took everything in Dean not to punch him anyway.

  


When Dean had glared enough to pin the barman back against the wall of the bar, Dean held his breath and walked up to Cas, with Sam lingering just behind him.

  


“Cas? Buddy?” he tried, reaching a hand out but not quite touching him.

  


Cas sat up unsteadily in his chair and Dean had to keep that arm out to stop Cas from sliding right to the floor. “Dean?” his voice was full of drunken joy, his name an inebriated caress on his lips. “Dean! What are you doing here?”

  


With delight evident on his face, Cas tried to focus his eyes on Dean, but he was so far gone that all he could manage was to stare vacantly over his shoulder.

  


“Cas, c'mon,” Dean pleaded, though his voice was relieved. “Don't take off like that. You had me worried,”

  


Cas' face split into a sloppy grin and he patted his hand out roughly in Dean's direction. “You worry about me. A lot.”

  


“Yeah, Cas. I do.” Dean agreed, slowly working his fingers under Cas' elbow in an effort to keep him upright.

  


“I did not mean to make you worry. And I do not understand why you worry so much,”

  


“Because we're family, Cas,” Sam added, silently coming up beside them.

  


“Sam!” Cas breathed out affectionately. “You are here too! This is a party! You know,” and Cas lurched dangerously forward towards Sam who caught him, shooting a look of panic at Dean, “I have never been to a party. There are many things I am yet to experience. I fear I will not get to experience all that I would like,”

  


It was not the time for this, at all, but Dean found himself asking, “What do you want to experience, Cas?”

  


Cas' eyes grew comically wide, and his mouth formed a perfect _o_ in shock. His hands drifted up in a way he probably thought was gentle, tugging hard on the lapels of Dean's jacket and attempting to stare him directly in the eye.

  


“Many things,” Cas whispered dramatically, which had Sam fighting back a laugh as he watched Dean's throat visibly constricting in about a hundred different ways.

  


“Okay. Time to get you home, yeah?” Dean replied, hastily, blatantly ignoring the look on Sam's face.

  


“I am happy where I am, Dean.”

  


“Yeah. Blind drunk on a bar stool with no way of getting home,” Dean pointed out to him.

  


“Then drink with me,” Cas said in a very reasonable tone, turning back with a flourish, and draining his glass before indicating for another.

  


Dean shot the barman a look that kept him well away at the other end of the bar.

  


Cas scowled in Dean's direction, missing his face entirely.

  


“How about not?” Dean suggested.

  


“How about you leave me here and I will come back when I am ready?” Cas countered with a sigh, looking sadly down into his empty glass.

  


“How? You gonna drive in this state?” Dean tried really, really hard not to show how pissed off he was, but failed.

  


Cas gave a half shrug but didn't look up. “I will sleep in the car.”

  


“And freeze your ass off?”

  


“You and Sam have spent many nights asleep in the Impala,” Cas grumbled.

  


“Yeah, well. Just because we're stupid from time to time doesn't mean you have to be.”

  


“I'm not leaving,” Cas said, lurching awkwardly to his feet and gripping on to Dean tightly to steady himself.

  


“Yeah, Cas. You are.” Dean countered, grabbing on to Cas where he could; he was a dead weight this drunk and Sam had to help keep him upright.

  


“Since when do you-”

  


Cas started a sentence, jabbing a finger into Dean's chest hard enough to leave a bruise, but then his eyes grew wide.

  


“Shit,” Dean managed, knowing that look. With a nod to Sam, they each hooked a hand under Cas' arms and dragged him out of the bar as quick as they could.

  


The cold air hit Cas hard; he sucked in a harsh breath, and the next second was doubled over, retching up into the gutter with both Sam and Dean keeping him from falling face first. They lost their grip for a moment and he dropped to his knees heavily, still throwing up. His hands crashed forward, thankfully avoiding the puddles he was making, but his head drooped down in defeat.

  


Dean crouched beside him, soothingly rubbing a hand along his back as waves of sickness continued to work their way through. The gasping little choking sounds he made pierced Dean over and over, and he couldn’t keep the fear from his voice when he said, “You've gotta stop doing this to me, Cas. I can't keep seeing you like this, you're killing me,”

  


Cas hiccuped a little, bringing a hand up to wipe the tears from his eyes caused by the acid of his retching. “I am not doing anything to you, Dean,”

  


Dean, resting his hand on the back of Cas' neck, disagreed. “You are, Cas. You are. Every time I see you like this, I... you're scaring me, Cas.”

  


Cas turned slightly to look at him, the expression on his face still completely vacant. “That is not my intention.”

  


“Then what is your 'intention' here, Cas? Huh? Tell me that?”

  


For a moment Cas was silent, unsteadily sinking back on to his heels and resting his hands on his thighs. “Nothing, Dean. Nothing.”

  


Dean closed his eyes in defeat, then nodded to Sam to help him get Cas back up.

  


They sat him in the back seat, and Sam kept him propped up until Dean had gone back in to the bar to clear Cas' tab and get him some water. After several gulps, and the hope that he'd stopped throwing up for now at least, they let him lay down, where he passed out instantly.

  


They drove home in silence.

  


When they'd got Cas to his room, Dean insisted on Sam going to bed, leaving him to look after Cas by himself. He felt responsible, in all kinds of ways, and wanted, needed to do this for him.

  


Dean gently pulled off his shoes, and socks, debated with himself about undressing Cas so he'd be more comfortable as he slept. His eyes lingered over the buckle of Cas' belt, and Dean lost any sense of control, so chose instead to leave him as he was and just cover him over.

  


Cas was oblivious to everything.

  


Dean left him for a few minutes, returning with a jug of water, a glass and a full pack of painkillers. He nudged the trashcan in the corner of the room over to the side of the bed, silently begging Cas not to need it in the middle of the night.

  


And then he dropped down on the free side of the bed, heavily leaning back against the headboard.

  


“What'm I gonna do with you, Cas, huh?” he asked the comatose form beside him.

  


***

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Dean managed to fall asleep sat up without either falling off the bed or slumping over Cas, he didn't know. But when he startled himself awake in the morning it took him a good few seconds to work out where he was.
> 
> A quick glance to the side told him that Cas hadn't moved at all in his sleep, and Dean couldn't stop himself holding a hand in front of Cas' face to make sure he was still breathing.
> 
> Dean watched him sleep; it was something he'd never really done before. Even on the rare occasions where they'd found themselves sleeping beside one another, Dean had never allowed himself to look. But here, in this moment when Cas was unlikely to complain, or comment, Dean gave in to his instincts and just looked.
> 
> The stubble reminded Dean that Cas hadn't shaved for a couple of days, and the dark bruises beneath his eyes spoke volumes about how little Cas must be sleeping. His hair stuck up in its trademark chaos, and as Dean's eyes fell on to Cas' lips he had to swallow back the urge to lean down and kiss him.
> 
> Dean groaned to himself.

How Dean managed to fall asleep sat up without either falling off the bed or slumping over Cas, he didn't know. But when he startled himself awake in the morning it took him a good few seconds to work out where he was.

  


A quick glance to the side told him that Cas hadn't moved at all in his sleep, and Dean couldn't stop himself holding a hand in front of Cas' face to make sure he was still breathing.

  


Dean watched him sleep; it was something he'd never really done before. Even on the rare occasions where they'd found themselves sleeping beside one another, Dean had never allowed himself to look. But here, in this moment when Cas was unlikely to complain, or comment, Dean gave in to his instincts and just looked.

  


The stubble reminded Dean that Cas hadn't shaved for a couple of days, and the dark bruises beneath his eyes spoke volumes about how little Cas must be sleeping. His hair stuck up in its trademark chaos, and as Dean's eyes fell on to Cas' lips he had to swallow back the urge to lean down and kiss him.

  


Dean groaned to himself.

  


There had been far, far too many times Dean had thought about that, about all sorts of things he wanted to do with Cas that he'd never allow himself to do. But kissing him, that in particular felt like such a need, such a _want_ , that he'd imagined everything from how his lips would feel against his own, to how he would taste.

  


It was almost as though he'd already been there, and done that; the dreams he woke from sometimes were technicolour bright, with soft sighs that whispered against his lips and the strangest feeling of being home.

  


But Dean could never have that. Cas would never want that from him, for one thing.

  


Cas chose that moment to start coming round.

  


Dean found himself grinning at the way Cas screwed up his face, pulling an expression of pure disgust at what had to be the awful taste in his mouth. His eyes blinked open slowly; Dean could see his eyelashes only from this angle, and they fluttered open and closed repeatedly until the spot between his eyebrows formed into a deep frown.

  


Cas' eyes were level with Dean's hip, and Dean watched with a held breath as Cas freed his hand from beneath the blanket Dean had covered him with, and prodded him in the thigh with a sharp finger. Cas let out a little gasp, and his head shot up, taking in Dean's face before groaning and rolling so that his face was buried entirely in his pillow.

  


“Morning, sunshine,” Dean said, smirking as Cas groaned again in response and shuffled, turning away from him completely.

  


“I want to sleep,” he croaked out.

  


Dean shrugged, but only to himself. “So sleep. One of us might as well.”

  


Cas laid perfectly still. “You were here? All night?”

  


“Yeah, Cas.”

  


“I did not ask you to do that.”

  


“No, you didn't,” Dean agreed, talking to the back of Cas' head. “But if you think I was gonna leave you alone after the stunt you pulled last night, you're a bigger idiot than you probably feel right now.”

  


Cas could only sigh back at him.

  


“So how're you feeling?” Dean prompted.

  


“Sick, Dean. Are you content?” Cas' voice was resigned, mumbled into the pillow.

  


“I thought we'd covered how seeing you like this was the exact opposite of me being content?”

  


When Cas didn't reply, Dean reached out an unsteady hand and rested it on Cas' shoulder.

  


“You ever gonna tell me what's going on?”

  


“Nothing is 'going on', Dean. If you would allow me to sleep-”

  


“I'll allow you to sleep when you explain, Cas. Why you keep doing this to yourself.”

  


“I have told you, Dean. There is nothing to explain,” Cas sounded as though he was getting angry, but it was laced with discomfort.

  


“Tell you what,” Dean reasoned. “How about... you turn over, look me in the eye, and tell me there's no problem here. Then take some pills, drink a ton of water, and go back to sleep. How's that sound?”

  


Cas shuffled awkwardly but slowly turned around. “Acceptable,”

  


And after a lot of mumbling under his breath, Cas looked up at him. Dean's breath caught; he missed Cas' eyes being blue, instead of their current red and blood-shot. It seemed to have been far too long since he'd last seen them.

  


“There is nothing wrong, Dean,” Cas told him, tiredly, not holding his gaze for more than a beat. Then he fumbled a hand across Dean, reaching for the glass Dean had left there.

  


Dean sucked in a breath as Cas fell against him, but reached out to help him anyway. Cas dragged himself upright enough to drink thirstily, and shakily held out his glass for Dean to refill. Dean pressed out pills into Cas' hand again without being asked; it was clear from the way he was trembling he'd have difficulty doing that for himself.

  


Having drunk his fill, Cas flopped headfirst back into his pillow, and pushed against Dean's leg.

  


“Leave me to sleep.”

  


Reluctantly, Dean stood, stretching and groaning at the stiffness in his back and neck. “Fine. You sleep it off, _again_. Me and Sam'll go fetch your car. We were too in a hurry to get you back last night to do anything about it. Maybe you'll be alive by the time we get back.”

  


Dean got half way across the room before Cas answered him.

  


“Where is my car?”

  


Dean turned back towards the bed, raising an eyebrow that Cas wouldn't get to see. “Outside the bar you were at last night?”

  


“...I do not know what you are talking about.”

  


Dean took a step forward. “You don't remember?”

  


“I remember wanting something to drink after dinner,” Cas mumbled uncertainly.

  


“And nothing else?” Dean held his breath; already knowing the answer.

  


“...no.”

  


Dean wiped a hand over his face, and tried to get a hold on all of the words that were bouncing around his head. “Happens sometimes. When you drink yourself half dead.”

  


Cas' only answer to that was a final groan before he fell back to sleep.

  


***

  


Cas didn't emerge from his room until late in the night.

  


Dean could tell from the way his shoulders dropped that he'd hoped to find the communal area of the bunker empty, which was exactly why Dean had positioned himself so that he would catch Cas if he made his way in.

  


They stared at each other uncertainly, both still bristling with residual anger, or disappointment, but the thing Dean found most frustrating about Cas was that he himself was always the first one to give in.

  


With a heavy sigh, Dean stood, calling over his shoulder, “Hungry? Saved you a plate,”

  


Dean didn't wait for Cas to answer, just went about heating it up for him, putting a glass down on the table along with some cutlery, pulling out a chair.

  


He didn't even look back when he heard Cas sit down, scraping the chair forward a little. But he did tightly grip on to the counter to give himself strength to get through whatever awful conversation they were about to have.

  


The microwave beeped to announce it was done, and he slid the plate down in front of Cas, pouring both of them water before sitting down opposite.

  


“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said in a small voice, clearly hungry if the way he dug straight in was anything to go by.

  


“Was cooking anyway,” Dean shrugged, and Cas' eyes caught it.

  


“Not just for the food.” Cas looked up at him, fork full of food and poised before his mouth. “For taking care of me. I apologise that you had to do that. Again.”

  


Dean said nothing, but continued to stare on back.

  


“I understand you concerns, Dean. And I will, in the future, attempt not to repeat my actions.”

  


“Just like that?” If Dean's voice was disbelieving, he couldn't help that.

  


“I will try.”

  


Dean watched him eating in silence for a while, then shook his head. “You gotta tell me what's going on, man. If something's wrong, and I can help-”

  


“You cannot help, Dean.”

  


Dean's heart started hammering. “So something's happened? Something _is_ wrong with you? I'm not imagining that?”

  


Cas carefully swallowed the last of his food, precisely laying his fork and knife down on his plate. “I will be fine.”

  


“Cas,” Dean pleaded, and Cas shook his head, standing to take his plate over to the sink and started washing it.

  


Dean watched his back, clutching at any ideas he could think of to work out what was going on.

  


He drew a complete blank.

  


“I do not enjoy knowing that I have lost a part of my memory,” Cas mumbled, and Dean itched to reach out and comfort him. Cas looked up, his eyes clouded, the dark circles seeming even more prominent than ever. “I do not like that feeling of losing complete control.”

  


Dean nodded in understanding. “Yeah. That bit sucks, right?”

  


“Yes. I do not relish feeling so...out of my depth.”

  


“Then don't, Cas. Please,” Dean pleaded.

  


Cas stared back at him, and once again Dean found himself desperate to know what he was thinking.

  


“I will try,” Cas managed, breaking their eye contact and staring down at his own hands.

  


Dean's face flickered with a brief smile of hesitant gratitude.

  


***

  


Over the next few days, Dean noticed a pattern.

  


When Cas was with Sam, or the three of them were together, Cas seemed fine, almost back to his normal self. He laughed at their jokes, attempted a few of his own, and showed the same level of complete interest in everything they were doing that he always had.

  


But the moment Cas was alone with Dean, his whole demeanour changed. He became tense, deliberately holding himself away from wherever Dean was, folding his arms tightly into his chest as though he was constantly cold.

  


Their time together never lasted more than a few minutes before Cas would find an excuse to be elsewhere.

  


Dean wanted to be happy that Cas seemed to be fine without drinking, but couldn't help but be hurt by Cas apparently not wanting to be anywhere near him if it meant the two of them being alone.

  


It made Dean himself want to reach for every liquor bottle known to man, the way Cas went out of his way not to be caught on his own with him.

  


Perhaps it was the lack of alcohol that made him so determined, or perhaps just sheer frustration at not understanding what was going on. Either way, Dean decided he was going to corner Cas about his behaviour, and immediately.

  


Cas had taken to going for a walk around a route he’d found near the bunker in the afternoon when there was nothing else they needed to be doing. The moment Dean saw him preparing to leave he grabbed a jacket and followed him out without waiting for an invitation.

  


Cas frowned over at him as his feet crunched on the gravel, but he didn't show any objection, and for that Dean was relieved.

  


But how was he going to start this?

  


“Please talk to me, Cas.”

  


Cas shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and kept his face carefully looking forward.

  


“About what, Dean?”

  


“Anything. Anything at all. You don't speak to me at all anymore.”

  


“That is untrue,” Cas object with a slight shake of his head.

  


“Alright. Maybe it's not entirely true. But...” and Dean let out a shaky breath before speaking. “I miss you, Cas.”

  


Dean heard Cas suck in a breath and watched out of the corner of his eye as he tensed up.

  


“I miss you,” he repeated. “And I don't know what happened, or what I did, or anything. But you avoid me like I've got the plague or something,”

  


Cas' face crumpled up for a moment at Dean's words, then flattened back out into a carefully neutral expression.

  


“I did not intend to make you feel like that.”

  


“Then please tell me what's going on with you.”

  


Cas' pace picked up a little and Dean easily met it, forcing himself to stay quiet, to give Cas time to talk. It took so long that Dean suspected it was never going to happen, but eventually, Cas cleared his throat, and shot him a brief look.

  


“I do not enjoy hangovers, Dean.”

  


Dean laughed. “Yeah, no one does, Cas. That's sort of the point.”

  


“I also do not like forgetting things.”

  


Dean nodded in agreement. “Doesn't happen often to me anymore when I drink, but yeah. I hate that too. I hate feeling like I'm missing a part of me, you know?”

  


Dean could not work out what expression crossed Cas' face then, but he knew it involved pain.

  


“I do,” Cas responded quietly, holding himself even more rigidly. And then turning very slightly towards Dean, in an even quieter voice, he said, “And I wish you would remember.”

  


That pulled Dean up short, enough to stop him walking. “Huh? Remember what?”

  


***

  
  


 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being numb was easier. And so he sought it out.
> 
> But then, Cas had lost time. When he'd, apparently, drunk himself into a stupor at a bar and didn't remember even a moment about it, that had scared him. There had been enough control exerted over him against his will throughout his long lifetime, and Cas found himself sick with the thought that he'd allow himself to experience that ever again.
> 
> So the drinking had to stop.
> 
> And it had stopped.
> 
> But the wanting hadn't. It seemed to just rage hotter than it ever had before. How could he stop wanting something he'd been fighting against wanting for years?

_Cas knew Dean's patterns to almost perfection. Good hunts were followed by a quick celebratory drink, smiles all round, before they moved on to, or planned the next one._

  


_But a bad one. Where things went wrong, where innocent people were injured, or in any way impacted beyond what was absolutely necessary, Dean reached for liquor like a lifeline, and disappeared somewhere on his own._

  


_Cas hated that._

  


_And this time was no different._

  


_Unsure of if he'd even be welcome, Cas had remained at the bunker table, half reading a book that was laying around. When what he really wanted to be doing was to follow Dean to his room, and make sure he was okay._

  


_When Dean staggered through a little later, noisily throwing an empty bottle on to the side and picking up a full one, Cas pushed back his chair a little heavier than was necessary to get his attention._

  


“ _Cas,” Dean said, coming to an unbalanced stop as he spun round. “What are you doing up?”_

  


“ _I am not tired,” Cas lied, and it wasn't a good lie, because he was never any good at lying. But in Dean's drunken state, he took it at face value._

  


“ _Grab a glass,” was all Dean said, and so Cas did just that, following him out._

  


_Dean sat down heavily on his bed and gestured for Cas to sit beside him. They sat propped up against Dean's headboard with Dean still able to easily pour a good measure into each of their glasses without spilling a drop. He clinked their glasses together, and threw his drink down his throat in one gulp, which Cas watched with wide eyes before following suit._

  


_This version of drunk Dean was not a happy one. His smile was humorless, his face still a mask of anger, and Cas wondered how much more drink Dean would manage before he'd pass out completely. And knew for almost certain that was probably Dean’s intention._

  


“ _You know, Cas,” Dean said, leaning into him with a conspiratorial tone in his voice. “Tonight was so fucked up. So fucked up. I'm talking... we messed up. Badly,”_

  


“ _Dean,” Cas tried, but Dean surprised him by bringing up a hand to cover his mouth, to stop him talking._

  


“ _I haven't finished,” Dean admonished, tapping a fingertip against the crest of Cas' upper lip, which had Cas' heart racing furious and confused. He sat perfectly still as Dean frowned, tracing a finger along the outline of Cas' lip._

  


“ _I was gonna say. It doesn't have to end bad. I mean. You're here. Sam's here. I'm here. We're all alive. Gotta be something worth celebrating, right?” Dean's voice did not match his words at all, and Cas ached at what he knew to be Dean's guilt at a job gone wrong._

  


“ _I agree,” Cas said carefully, his lip still tingling a little from Dean's touch._

  


_Dean nodded, pouring them another measure. “That's what I thought.”_

  


_Cas let Dean ramble on, because he seemed to be in the mood to talk. About nothing profound, and nothing that needed much in the way of anything but the occasional sound of agreement, but Cas found the more Dean talked, the more relaxed he seemed. In fact, Dean became so relaxed, he'd even started leaning in to Cas' shoulder, resting his head there repeatedly in a way that did nothing to calm Cas' beating heart._

  


_Dean had been mid sentence when he seemed to realise how close his face was to Cas'. His eyes narrowed, staring down at Cas' lips calculatingly, before grabbing Cas' glass and absently dropping it on the floor beside his own, and the almost-empty bottle. And then he was back, pulling Cas' face to his, and kissing him roughly, tongue forcing its way in to Cas' mouth, flicking hard and demanding._

  


_Cas couldn't stop himself moaning out at how that felt, despite being taken completely by surprise._

  


_Dean answered with his own groan, pushing them down the bed, and rolling himself on top of Cas, falling heavily against his chest as he continued his violation of Cas' mouth. Not that Cas objected in the slightest; he'd been thinking about kissing Dean for so long now that he thought he already knew what it would feel like. And so what if this was unexpected; Dean was willingly there with him in that moment, and had initiated the whole thing._

  


_The kiss continued, and Dean's hands wandered, brushing up under Cas' shirt, and his legs pressing down between Cas' until there was enough room for him to lay there easily. He rolled his hips against Cas with a guttural groan that Cas could only answer in mimicry at how good it felt. And when Dean pulled back the collar of Cas' shirt to start a trail of kisses that ended with a bite just below his jaw, all Cas could do was cling on to him._

  


_But Cas had just enough self-preservation not to completely trust that this was real, and really what Dean meant to be doing. Hesitantly, and in between Dean's rough kisses when there was enough breathing room for him to speak, he'd asked. Dean, do you know what you're doing? Dean, are you certain you want to be doing this? Dean, are you sure you won't regret this in the morning?_

  


_But Dean had murmured nothing but drunken encouragement, and try as he might, Cas couldn't stop himself from responding. He’d wanted this for too long to be able to pull away from it._

  


_When Dean began to grow tired, the kisses continued, but they were a little more gentle, and sloppy, and accompanied by Dean's continued wandering fingers that had by then snagged open most of Cas' buttons and lay splayed across his mostly-bare chest as though he was staking his claim._

  


_And Cas had asked again, Dean, are you sure. And Dean had mumbled, of course. Cas was bold with drink, and drunk on Dean. And he told him, if he meant that, then in the morning, when they were both sober, he'd have to kiss him again. That they'd have to talk about it at the very least._

  


_Dean had kissed his reassurance into Cas until he'd fallen asleep, and Cas had laid awake for ages after, smiling, cursing himself for believing any of it, then replaying it all in his mind anyway._

  


_He was just wise enough to return to his own bed, although it took him a while to make himself leave._

  


_When morning came, Cas laid staring at the ceiling for ages, not trusting himself to believe it was true._

 

_He got up, frowning when he passed Dean's wide open door, and continued walking through the bunker that sound of Dean vomiting got his attention. Choked gasps, hisses at the taste of bile, wiping his eyes clear as he retched over and over into the toilet bowl. Cas stood, helpless by his side, mumbling reassurances and offering water, and generally feeling useless._

  


_When Dean had finally made it back to bed with water and painkillers, Cas had hovered in the doorway, watching as Dean fell asleep._

  


_He waited on tenterhooks as Dean repeatedly woke, and fell asleep, all day long. Waiting for him to say, or do something. Even though he told himself he shouldn't. Even though he cursed himself for believing a minute of what had happened. Or for actually letting it happen in the first place._

  


_The day following Dean's hangover, the last shred of hope that Cas had held on to died. Dean either didn't remember a thing, or blatantly chose not to. He watched Dean, just in case, for any kind of sign that Dean was thinking anything about what had happened between them._

  


_But there was nothing there at all._

  


_When Dean mumbled a goodnight in his direction leaving Cas to sit alone at the kitchen table, Cas stared after him. And after a while, he stood. Turning, Cas pulled down a full bottle of whiskey from the cupboard, not even bothering to take a glass, and disappeared into his room._

  


***

  


The fact that Dean didn't remember a second of it was one of the most painful things Cas had found himself experiencing. That he had found himself drinking to keep the thoughts of it at bay, or to keep himself from attempting to restart something Dean didn't even know he'd participated in, was right out of the Winchester school of life learning.

  


Cas knew drinking was never going to be the answer, and he'd never really started out looking for one in the first place. But he genuinely didn't have any other ideas, and no one to turn to talk about it, so what else was there for him to do?

  


Drink numbed all of that. It made it tolerable to be in the same room as Dean, without feeling that awful urge that reminded him cruelly of the one solitary night when Cas had managed to convince himself that Dean felt something for him too.

  


Being numb was easier. And so he sought it out.

  


But then, Cas had lost time. When he'd, apparently, drunk himself into a stupor at a bar and didn't remember even a moment about it, that had scared him. There had been enough control exerted over him against his will throughout his long lifetime, and Cas found himself sick with the thought that he'd allow himself to experience that ever again.

  


So the drinking had to stop.

  


And it had stopped.

  


But the wanting hadn't. It seemed to just rage hotter than it ever had before. How could he stop wanting something he'd been fighting against wanting for years?

  


So he'd tried to keep away from Dean, because really, what else was there to do? Where else was there to go? It wasn't like Cas couldn't cope out there on his own, because he knew that he could. But the simple fact was that he didn't _want_ to be away from Dean, from this strange little life the three of them had formed together around hunting. But to be near, and to not be near, was becoming torture.

  


And Dean, although blissfully unobservant in so many ways, had noticed Cas pulling away from him.

  


Cas was going to have to explain all of this somehow, and now. He didn't even know really where he should begin.

  


“You haven't been particularly drunk for some time, Dean.” Cas started, carefully, ignoring the way his mind charted that time in actual days, and weeks.

  


“No, guess I haven't,” Dean agreed, “Guess I've been too busy watching you go through it.”

  


“I am sorry about that, Dean,” Cas sighed out, eyes glued to the horizon, and anywhere away from Dean.

  


“S'ok. Just worried is all, you know?”

  


“I do,” Cas nodded, turning to offer him a small smile.

  


“So,” Dean prompted, when Cas remained silent.

  


“So. You do not remember when you were last drunk,” Cas managed, and his voice broke a little on his own words. He already knew the answer, knew the pain Dean’s confirmation would bring. But the look on Dean's face right then was just another stab through his heart.

  


“Uh, not especially, no?”

  


Cas nodded to himself, biting down firmly on the thousands of things that he wanted to say. Dean’s ignorance here should not have hurt like it did.

  


But it did, and so much.

  


“Cas, c'mon,”

  


“I do remember, Dean.”

  


Dean reached out an arm to stop Cas moving forward when he looked like he was going to try and make his escape again. “Huh?”

  


Cas looked down at Dean's hand on his arm, but avoided looking up at him. “I said. I do remember. When you were last drunk.”

  


“Oh,” Dean laughed, a little embarrassed, and grimaced, very obviously uncomfortable. “Did I do something stupid?”

  


Which only made Cas snatch his arm out of Dean’s grasp, and keep walking.

  


“Cas,” Dean yelled after him, because Cas' pace had picked up even more, and he was already some distance from him. “You gotta level with me. If I've done something to piss you off, and that's why you're avoiding me. I can't do anything about it if you don't tell me, right? I can't fix it.”

  


“You can't fix it either way, Dean,” And Cas turned back sharply, his voice a twisted, tortured thing which stopped Dean firmly in his tracks.

  


“Cas...” Dean choked out, helplessly.

  


“Perhaps in time you will remember.” Cas mused, his voice now bitter. “And when you do, you will understand.”

  


Cas couldn't bring himself to stay there any longer, and turned on his heel, leaving Dean to stand there staring after him open-mouthed.

  


It took Dean a good few seconds to stop staring and start moving, and he quickly caught up with him again, grabbing hard on to his arm and spinning Cas around to face him.

  


“Cas,” he shouted, shaking him a little, then stopping in shock at the expression on Cas' face. Were those tears in his eyes?

  


More gently, Dean pulled him closer to him, lightly gripping his free hand around Cas' other arm and holding him there in place. “Please, Cas,” he begged. “Tell me what happened.”

  


“I can't,” Cas choked out, shaking his head.

  


Dean was overwhelmed, and clueless, and did the only thing he could think of doing, which was to pull Cas hard into his arms and hug him tight.

  


For a moment, Cas was rigid, resisting his touch, but then he melted into him, arms wrapping around him and face burying into Dean's neck in a way that made Dean's heart pound. He breathed in deep against his hair, slowly rubbing circles into Cas' back as he felt his breath uneven against him.

  


Dean closed his eyes, feeling relief, and comfort, and all other kinds of things to be so close to Cas once more. It had been long, far too long. He hadn't been lying when he told Cas he missed him-

  


_Cas writhed beneath him, gasping as Dean gripped on to his hips and rolled into him._

  


The sudden image flared bright in Dean's mind, making him stand up a little straighter. Cas nudged against him more, and Dean automatically tightened his hold on him, more than happy to keep just holding on. He leaned down a little, pressing his nose against the side of his head-

  


_Cas' throat was arched, stubble teasing against his lips as he bit down just beneath his jaw._

  


Again, Dean startled a little, and his heart started pounding in a way that he really didn't like.

  


“Cas,” he asked, tone loaded with questions, and he felt Cas shake his head against him.

  


“ _Dean, wait-”_

  


Dean sucked in a breath, eyes growing wide; was it really just the act of having Cas there in his arms that made him think like that? Was that enough to remind him just how much he wanted Cas? Did he have no control at all? Shouldn’t he-

  


_Want, Dean thought, I want this. I want him, he told himself, licking his way into Cas' mouth uninvited and loving the way he opened up to him regardless of that. His lips were as soft and dry as he'd imagined, and the way his tongue darted against his own was a fire straight to his crotch. Cas tasted of the whiskey they'd been sharing, and he smelt, god, he smelt incredible, something Dean couldn't quite describe but was desperate for more of. He rolled his hips down against Cas and groaned as he rolled back up._

  


Dean stood perfectly still, dropping his hands to his sides. Cas felt the change in Dean's stance, and stepped away, looking up uncertainly. When his eyes reached Dean's face, all he could do was gasp at the revelation, the recognition he saw there.

  


“Cas?” Dean asked uncertainly.

  


Cas couldn't bring himself to answer.

  


And out of nowhere, at least to Cas’ mind, Dean was reaching for him. Strong, gentle hands cupped Cas' face, pulling him closer, and Dean claimed Cas' mouth for his own once again. When their lips met, Cas let out a shaky sigh and leaned right into it, kissing back with all the force that Dean showed him in turn.

  


Cas thought he'd remembered everything perfectly, but he'd been nowhere near. Dean's kiss was urgent, demanding more from him, chasing his tongue around his mouth and breathing hard against him, crushing their bodies together in a perfect line.

  


And then Dean pulled back, dropping his hands away altogether as though they were blistered, leaving Cas stumbling forward a little at the sudden loss.

  


Dean stared at him, open-mouthed and eyes full of horror.

  


Cas felt the crash of rejection all over again. Once was painful, but twice? He didn't know how he'd come back from that. He couldn't stop the defeated sob that escaped from his mouth.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cas,” Dean choked out.
> 
> Cas couldn't even bring himself to raise his head to look at him.
> 
> “Cas,” he pleaded, taking a step back towards him but keeping his hands by his sides. “Cas...tell me... tell me I didn't...”
> 
> It was all of Cas' nightmares rolled into one.
> 
> He knew Dean would never have wanted that from him. He knew Dean would see it as a mistake, a confusing moment of weakness that he chose to forget, because it was so horrific to him.

“Cas,” Dean choked out.

 

Cas couldn't even bring himself to raise his head to look at him.

 

“Cas,” he pleaded, taking a step back towards him but keeping his hands by his sides. “Cas...tell me... tell me I didn't...”

 

It was all of Cas' nightmares rolled into one.

 

He knew Dean would never have wanted that from him. He knew Dean would see it as a mistake, a confusing moment of weakness that he chose to forget, because it was so horrific to him.

 

“Tell me I didn't... force myself on you?”

 

Cas' eyes shot up to look at Dean then, confused.

 

“Tell me, Cas,” and Dean's fingers twitched to reach out for him.

 

Cas could do nothing but stare back at him.

 

“Cas,” Dean begged. “I've wanted you. _That_. For so long. Tell me I didn't try and take it without... without...” and his voice slipped away, full of hatred. But to Cas' utter astonishment, it was only hatred directed at himself. Not him. Not him at all.

 

“You were drunk,” was all Cas could manage, blindly trying to scramble for words when his mind seemed to have run out of coherent thought, and now Dean was the one fighting back a sob.

 

“That's no excuse, Cas. If I did something... god.” Dean wiped a hand over his face, but it did nothing to remove the look of terror there. “Is that why you don't wanna be near me? 'Cos you don't trust me? I mean, I totally understand, but-”

 

“Dean,” Cas stepped forward, closing the gap between them, the urgency in his voice adding enough to his movements to stop Dean's words.

 

“You kissed me. You were a little... enthusiastic. But that is all. You did not force me to do anything I did not already want to do with you.” Cas held Dean's gaze, trying to give him all the reassurance that he could while fighting with himself to not jump to the conclusions about Dean's words that he wanted to.

 

“I'm sorry, Cas. I should never. I should never have... not without your permission,” he whispered, eyes glassy as he stared on back at Cas.

 

“You would have had my permission, Dean.” Cas told him softly, offering up the smallest of wistful smiles.

 

But Dean couldn’t hear the acceptance there in Cas’ voice. All he heard was his internal tirade about what a monster he’d let himself become. So he pressed on, “Is that why you're avoiding me?”

 

Cas shook his head, not altering his gaze. “No. I am... was... avoiding you, because you didn't remember. Or because you remembered and chose not to. And it _hurts_ , Dean.” he added, sadly, trying to dart his eyes away.

 

Dean's lips parted as though he wanted to speak, and his hands rose up as though he wanted to cup them to Cas' face again. But instead he pulled back, looking at Cas so carefully it was as though he feared he would break right there in front of his eyes.

 

He stared at Cas, and Cas could only watch as Dean’s face contorted through a range of emotions that he couldn’t even begin to guess at.

 

But Cas, he knew Dean’s patterns. He knew Dean was mere seconds away from pulling back, and running, and shutting himself away.

 

Cas looked at him, trying to stop him from leaving without uttering a single word.

 

Dean’s face eventually cleared of its torment, and he sucked in a breath.

 

“Cas...” he pleaded, eyes dropping to Cas' lips. “Please... can I kiss you?”

 

Cas stared for a moment as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, then nodded, swallowing roughly. But Dean just shook his head. “No, Cas,” he said, voice breaking a little, “I'm gonna need to hear it this time. I can't... I can't otherwise...”

 

“You can.” Cas breathed out, and that was all the permission Dean needed.

 

This kiss was nothing like the previous ones. His hands gently cupped Cas' face, so gentle it was almost an irritation to his skin. He leaned down, pressing the softest of kisses to Cas' lips, pulling back to check his expression. He did this once, twice more, before trusting that this was really what Cas wanted, and pressed a little firmer, opening up his mouth to him.

 

Cas reached up a hesitant hand to rest on the back of Dean's head, and Dean sighed, leaning himself completely against him, holding on tight.

 

How long they held on like that, neither of them paid any attention to. But when they did eventually take a breath from one another, they remained at arms length, both reluctant to move completely away.

 

“I'm so sorry, Cas,” Dean choked out after a while, his eyes dropping in disgust at himself as his hands gently slid down Cas' sides to hold him by the waist. “I never meant... you gotta believe me. I'd never-”

 

“I know, Dean,” Cas offered up as much understanding as he could. Currently the only way he could think of doing that was by leaning up and kissing him, which Dean gratefully leaned in to. And for Cas, his mind was still racing, still not quite believing that this was something Dean would let him do.

 

But the way Dean curled himself around Cas gave him all the confirmation that he needed to know he was okay to do just that. Even if Dean was still punishing himself over and over, internally berating himself in a way that Cas couldn’t really reach.

 

“I’d never do that Cas. Not knowingly. I mean I’d never,” Dean choked out, desperate for Cas’ understanding. “I can’t believe I… no wonder you…” and he couldn’t get out any other words, so instead wrapped his arms tightly round Cas and leaned his head down into the crook of Cas’ neck, where Cas could feel him trembling.

 

“It’s okay, Dean,” he tried, feeling Dean shaking his head against him.

 

“It’s not okay, Cas. You don’t need to say it is. Because it’s not. At all,”

 

Cas closed his eyes; no, Dean was right, none of this had been okay. There wasn’t an instant fix here, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to fix things. And whilst he appreciated Dean could see how wrong things had been, this going around in circles wasn’t going to change anything.

 

“Perhaps it is not okay, Dean.” Feeling a little bold, Cas turned his head a little to press a kiss to the side of Dean’s head, and placed a hand on the small of Dean’s back, pushing himself flush against him. “But perhaps it can be okay.” his voice was full of hope, and he felt so raw in that moment that he half-wanted to take the words back as he waited for Dean to speak.

 

Dean’s head rose up slowly, eyes revealing nothing as they gazed back at him. “Maybe it could. If we tried?”

 

Cas shot him a hesitant smile, which Dean returned slowly.

 

“This,” and then Dean laughed, standing up straighter and looping his hands low around Cas’ back, “This is _not_ how I thought this conversation was gonna go when I followed you out.”

 

Cas threaded his fingers together around Dean’s back and nodded in agreement.

 

“Question is,” Dean continued, biting down on his lip in thought, “What happens next?”

 

“I don’t know. But perhaps we should not...plan, anything. This is all...so much,” Cas’ voice was a mixture of hesitance, and wonder, and Dean found he could do nothing but agree.

 

They stared at each other a little lopsidedly, both a little stupid from their own thoughts and what had just happened between them. Then Dean cocked a trademark smirk in Cas’ direction which Cas automatically grinned back at, especially when Dean winked at him.

 

“So,” Dean began, pressing himself just that little bit closer against Cas, “I think maybe it’s time for you to kiss me back,” Dean’s voice was confident, but Cas could hear the wobble in his tone, and it did nothing but make his heart jolt hard in his chest.

 

“I believe I have been kissing you back, Dean,” he answered, eyes falling down to Dean’s lips anyway.

 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, his eyes doing the same, “Yeah you have,” and if his smile could split any wider, it did just then. “But you didn’t start any of them, not really. So it doesn’t count.”

 

Cas fought to keep the amusement from his face, disguising it badly with a huff, before launching himself at Dean with a ferocity that left Dean in no mind that this really was what Cas really wanted.

 

***

 

Dean pulled open the recycling bag and dropped in an empty milk carton, smiling when he didn’t hear the rattle of bottle on bottle.

 

When he turned, Cas was standing there, watching him curiously from just a couple of feet away.

 

Dean blushed a little, caught out at what he’d been thinking, and Cas rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless.

 

Dean leaned back against the counter and extended out a hand, pulling Cas forward to rest against him.

 

Cas’ hands wrapped around the collar of Dean’s shirt, while Dean’s gripped lightly on to Cas’ waist, as he leaned down the short distance it took for him to kiss him. Cas showed no objection at all, readily kissing him right back, pressing himself against Dean insistently which made him grin against his lips.

 

“Stay with me tonight?” Dean mumbled the question into Cas’ neck, nuzzling his nose there and smiling at the scratch of his stubble.

 

Cas’ hands ran down Dean’s back, fingers sneaking up beneath his shirt and splaying across his bare skin.

 

“Please,” Dean mumbled again, this time against Cas’ lips, feeling Cas smile against him once more.

 

“Of course, Dean.”

 

Since they’d talked, and Dean had remembered, he’d been so careful, so protective of Cas, that at times Cas just wanted to pin him to the next flat surface he could find and kiss it out of him. And sometimes he did just that.

 

“You know why I’ve got to keep asking, Cas,” Dean kissed him again, and Cas could do nothing but arch into him.

 

“I do. But you know that I want you. You do not need to doubt that,” Cas did his best to reassure him, opening up his mouth a little more to invite Dean in.

 

Dean sighed against him, gently licking his way into Cas’ mouth, and slowly rolling against him with a soft groan. “I want you too, Cas,” he said, pulling back enough so that Cas had to look him in the eye, and see his expression. “I just gotta be sure that this is what you really want. That you want _me_. _This_ ,” and Dean emphasised his words with another roll of his hips.

 

This was new, and both recognised why things needed to go slowly. Which was one of the reasons they insisted on keeping separate bedrooms, even though more often than not they fell asleep in the same bed wrapped around each other. And why Dean felt he had to ask Cas to stay, despite knowing he probably would. He'd not said no yet, not once.

 

“I want you, Dean,” Cas repeated in a whisper, bringing a hand up to cup Dean’s face, keeping his gaze and hoping Dean would see the acceptance there.

 

The smile on his face told him that he did, and he answered it with another kiss.

 


End file.
